


Mine to Stay

by humanveil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Bottom Hannibal, Branding, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Possessive Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rough Sex, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You do not belong to Mason Verger, Hannibal. You belong to me.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up with this idea in my head a few days ago and had to write it. I don't know what that says about me but...*shrugs.* Will isn't the _nicest_ lover in this one, but Hanni loves it anyway. 
> 
> Take note of the tags, because obviously there's some themes that not everyone is going to like. Their _activities_ start while Hannibal is still asleep, so here's a warning for that.
> 
> Title derived from Emily Dickinson's poem _[Promise This—When You be Dying.](http://genius.com/Emily-dickinson-promise-thiswhen-you-be-dying-648-annotated)_

Calloused fingers ghost over scarred skin, the movement gentle as not to wake the sleeping form.

He stares at the markings of the Verger crest, faded with age but still present, still recognisable. His anger increases with each second his gaze spends on the burn scars, the emotion consuming his entire being.

He _hates_ the crest. Truthfully, he hates every marking on Hannibal’s body that he didn’t put there, but the crest annoys him more than anything else.

Will manoeuvers Hannibal’s body so the other man is lying on his stomach in the middle of their bed, face turned sideways against the pillows so he can still breathe easily. Using the ties he’d grabbed from their closet, Will carefully restrains each of Hannibal’s wrists to the headboard, the same way Hannibal had done to him many times before.

He straddles the other man, thighs resting on either side of Hannibal’s ass as his hands return to the man’s bare back. The pad of his left thumb presses against the raised V, and, without much thought, he reaches to their bedside table for the scalpel Hannibal always keeps close.

The first cut is a small one, the blade sharp enough for Hannibal not to feel it, not yet.

Will watches as a vibrant red trickles out, small bubbles appearing and popping as the blood oozes down Hannibal’s skin. The first cut is quickly followed by three more, the lines crossing over the existing scars. The cuts aren’t deep enough to cause any serious damage, but they’ll scar, deform the already ruined skin.

Will dabs his fingers in the blood, using it to paint swirled patterns around Hannibal’s skin. He presses down on the open wound, smiling when Hannibal wakes with a gasp, eyes foggy with sleep and confusion.

He tries to turn, to face Will, but the restrains and pressure on his back stop him from being able to do so. Instead, he keeps his face tilted to the side, a soft sigh leaving his mouth as Will adds another cut. He thinks that, perhaps, he should be more surprised than he is.

“Will,” he says slowly, voice calmer than Will had expected. “What are you doing?”

Will shifts, moves so his chest is pressed against Hannibal’s back, his lips pressed against Hannibal’s ear. Quietly, harshly, he whispers, “You do not belong to Mason Verger, Hannibal. You belong to _me_.”

A low moan leaves Hannibal’s mouth, more like a whimper than anything else, and Will smiles before sitting back up. He cuts through the crest again, a deep crimson colouring the scalpel. Hannibal’s back clenches against the blade, anticipating the next cut, and Will feels himself getting hard.

He continues to slash the crest until it’s no longer recognisable, the faded scars covered in small wounds and blood. The blood drips drown from Hannibal’s back onto their sheets, but neither complains, both of them too engrossed with their arousal and each other to really notice.

Each sound that escapes Hannibal’s mouth sends a possessive spark through Will. He leans down to lick against the bloodied skin, the metallic scent almost overwhelming as he savours the taste, of blood and sweat and something distinctively _Hannibal_.

“Mine,” he whispers, lips dragging over Hannibal’s skin, fingers digging into flesh. “ _Mine._ ”

“Yes,” Hannibal replies. “ _Yes_ , Will. Yours.”

Will returns the scalpel to Hannibal’s back, the blade pressed gently against the spot between his shoulder blades.

“I’m going to mark you,” he says, his bloodied fingers drawing a pattern the scalpel will follow. “Brand you. Everyone’s going to know who you belong to.”

Hannibal groans, frustrated he won’t be able to see Will’s face as the other man works on him, scar him. He’s wanted to do this for a while now, to mark Will again and have Will mark him; he just hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic.  

Will moves the blade slowly, these cuts deeper than the last as he carves a _W_ into the tanned skin. The W is quickly followed by a _G_ , and although they look a little wonky, Will already loves them.

Transfixed, he stares at the wounds till red sweeps out. He stares until the desire to touch and taste overwhelms him, until he _has_ to drag his mouth back over the skin, the blood staining his lips and teeth and tongue.

His hands move quickly to remove any remaining clothing, almost crazed with the need to be close to Hannibal, to be inside of the other man. The preparation is quick, too quick, a mix of blood and sweat and spit being used as lube in his haste. He’s hurting the other man, he knows he is, but, as Hannibal’s moans fills their bedroom, he can’t bring himself to feel bad.

He guides Hannibal to his knees, the older man’s face still pressed against the pillows as Will grabs him, the scalpel falling to the mattress as his nails dig into flesh. He thrusts into Hannibal in a single, fluid motion, eyes shutting at the sensation. His chest is pressed flush against Hannibal’s back, the blood making them stick together in the most beautiful way.

The pace is brutal, merciless, and Will knows he won’t last long; not with Hannibal’s whimpering and the smell of blood filling the air. He places his mouth next to Hannibal’s ear, a mantra of _mine, mine, mine, mine, mine,_   _mine_ coming from his mouth with each thrust, glad when Hannibal can do barely anything but nod.

Palms still covered in drying blood, Will grabs hold of Hannibal’s cock, pulling almost roughly. He can feel the pressure building, his arousal coiling in his stomach, and he wants to get Hannibal off before he reaches his climax. He bites down on the junction of Hannibal’s collarbone, teeth digging in hard enough to draw more blood, and smiles against the skin as Hannibal comes, his body clenching around Will. Worn out, Hannibal collapses against the bed, still moaning as Will continues his assault.  

“Come,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow. “Come for me, my darling boy.”

Shutting his eyes, Will presses his face against Hannibal’s back, hips making small, stuttering movements before he finally comes, his mouth open in a silent scream. He stays where he is for a moment, chest heaving with each breath, his arm wrapped securely around Hannibal’s middle as he comes down from his high.

He eventually moves out from Hannibal, untying the restrains before collapsing on the bed next to him. The room still smells of blood, with their bodies and bed sheets covered in it, the red even staining Will’s mouth and chin. Hannibal leans to kiss him, tongue swiping at the stains.  

Will falls into place at Hannibal’s side, lips tilting in a smile when he sees Hannibal’s grin, the man’s eyes alight with love. He snuggles against the larger man, his body welcoming the embrace.

“Sorry if I hurt you,” he whispers, finally calmed down.

Hannibal presses his lips to Will’s forehead, his fingers bushing the curls away. “It hardly matters if I enjoyed it.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up. I just… I _had_ to do it and—”

“Will,” Hannibal murmurs, tone mirthful. “Stop apologising. Asleep or awake, I wanted it as much as you did.”

Will nods, his head tucking against Hannibal’s chest as he mumbles, “Good.”

Hannibal places another kiss to his forehead, smiling as he says, “And I shall be doing the same to you in a few days.”

Will huffs a laugh, already looking forward to it. “I was hoping you would.”


End file.
